


it's okay

by girl0nfire



Category: Marvel
Genre: Gen, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unrepentant Fluff, kitten!fic, no character is safe from my desire to fluff, oh no, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/pseuds/girl0nfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two times James Barnes lends a hand to a creature in need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's okay

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a lovely friend on Tumblr who needed a pick-me-up.

If any of the other boys at school find out about this, Bucky is _so_ getting his ass kicked.

He slips behind the fence at the end of the alley, one hand tucked into the breast pocket of his threadbare jacket. He can see his breath rising in wisps in front of his face, and the hand not occupied concealing the small bit of food he’d stolen shakes with the cold.

Kneeling, Bucky drops his chest to the dirty concrete to peek underneath the dumpster. There she was, same as she’d been yesterday – a small, shivering gray kitten he’d decided to call Rebecca.

“Hey, are you hungry?” Bucky retrieves the small piece of ham he’d tucked into his pocket at breakfast that morning. Slowly, he reaches underneath the dumpster, offering it to the small ball of fur.

A tiny pink nose appears from behind two crossed paws and slowly, carefully, the little creature sniffs along the ground until she finds Bucky’s hand. She pulls the food from between his fingers and eats it too quickly, with a kind of raw greed that Bucky only understands too well himself.  
There’s a chunk missing from her left ear and a dried, bloody patch between her eyes. When Bucky had found her, she’d been huddled behind a trashcan, mewling pathetically and trying to lick her wounds clean. She was a fighter, he could tell. And maybe he just likes ornery things that don’t know when to give up – Steve Rogers is his best friend, after all – but Bucky couldn’t leave her like that.

So it’s been like this for the past few weeks, a sudden winter in the October wind rattling between the buildings and Bucky sneaking bits of his breakfast to the gray kitten every morning. But today, after she’s finished eating, instead of curling back up out of reach like she usually does, she pauses. Pale green eyes fixed on his face, the tiny creature nudges Bucky’s palm with her cold, pink nose, pushing until she’s managed to get her head beneath his hand. Purring, she waits patiently, as if she’s saying, _Well, what are you waiting for_?

Bucky lifts his hand to stroke a finger along her fur, scratching behind her good ear and being careful to avoid the still-tender wound on her head. She leans into him, the rumble of her purr echoing out from beneath the dumpster, and he smiles.

He reaches back into his jacket for another piece of ham, but in the absence of his attentions, Rebecca steps warily out from underneath the dumpster and hops nimbly into his lap. She sniffs the air, nudging the front of his jacket, before reaching a tiny gray paw up to bat at one of the buttons. Soon, she’s shivering again from the exposure, so Bucky does the first thing he can think of. Unbuttoning the front of his coat, he carefully lifts the small cat off his lap and brings her to his chest. Slowly, he supports her with his hand as he fastens his coat again. 

The small rumble of her purring evens out and calms, and as Bucky holds both hands over the tiny lump on his chest, he whispers, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

+

James isn’t sure why the chilled mornings here make him feel homesick, but he’s tired of missing things he can’t remember, so he takes matters into his own hands. Each morning after training, he slips through a gap in the barbed-wire fence behind the officer’s barracks and walks the edge of the forest. He doesn’t bother with a coat or gloves anymore, he’s gotten used to the permanent winter of his new home, and the only reminder of the extreme temperature is the dull ache in his shoulder where metal meets skin.

These walks are the only time he can be alone inside his own head, alone with his thoughts and no one else’s. These are also the times where he feels most alone; forced to confront the darkness he’s become so content with, forced to try over and over to make sense of the flashes of memories he doesn’t remember making.

A movement in the woods to his left catches his eye, and he stills instantly. Scanning the edge of the woods for another hint, another careless movement, James’ hand drifts towards the knife he keeps wedged in his belt. Another small rustle, this one closer, and he catches a glimpse of orange beneath one of the scrubby bushes on the ground. 

Replacing the knife before he’d even finished drawing it, James pads closer to the bush, bending down to get a better look at the small, orange tabby cat. It’s cold, he thinks, too cold for an animal like this to survive for long, and James realizes that it must have been abandoned by one of the families that live near the base. Reaching a hand to the trembling creature, he lifts the low-hanging branches away to reveal that the cat has caught one of its paws between the roots of the bush. Exhausted and shivering, it must have been caught overnight and had given up on trying to free itself. Resigned itself to death caught in a trap it never saw coming.

James knows the feeling.

Reaching for the knife again, he sets to work sawing away at the tangled roots until the cat’s foot is freed. James jerks his hands away quickly, expecting the half-wild creature to bolt, but instead, it continues lying still. Pleading, pale green eyes fix on his face and James knows what he needs to do.

He doesn’t have a jacket on, so he reaches to peel off the sweater he’s wearing, and okay, with just a t-shirt on he’s ready to admit that maybe it _is_ a little cold out. Slowly, gently, he wraps the sweater around the orange tabby, tucking the sleeves beneath its head. The cat nuzzles his hand as it passes, a weak sound somewhere between a purr and a whimper rumbling in its chest, and James sits back on his heels, thinking.

If he waits until it gets dark again, he’ll be able to make it through the canteen unnoticed. Water will freeze overnight, but at least the poor thing won’t go hungry tonight. James reaches out again, the dull silver of his arm glinting in the late afternoon sunlight as he scratches the now-sleeping creature behind its’ ears.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”


End file.
